


How Did It Come to This?

by SrirachaGarlic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Prequel, Racism, Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 06:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrirachaGarlic/pseuds/SrirachaGarlic
Summary: Before Voldemort's final death, before Harry, there was Petunia Evans. Why is she Petunia Dursley?





	How Did It Come to This?

Petunia Evans is an ambitious girl. Sitting at her desk in her room, she is the perfect picture of studiousness. Her fingers tap a pen around thoughtfully, skittering across her desk like a black beetle. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled up into a messy bun. She glances up from the heavy textbook she’s been perusing at the window. The sky sings of blueness as the sun beats down, heating up her small room until she sweats and can no longer bear it. Her hair sticks to her temples and the back of her neck. She is encased in a blanket of moisture, her body staving off overheating by leaking perspiration.

Petunia takes her books downstairs. It is cooler down here, and the rest of her family is hiding from the heat as well. Her mother looks up in surprise. “Petunia! Are you done studying already?”

Petunia grimaces, shaking her head. “No. It got too hot for me, that’s all.” She thumps her books down onto the dining room table to get back to work. They are heavy tomes, and Petunia loves leafing through the pages to see what she might discover. Many people would mistake her for a bookworm, but they are wrong. Petunia doesn’t voraciously devour novels. Rather, she prefers studying. Her library card is well-used and loved. For this past year, whilst Lily’s been away at that magical school of hers, she’s been studying magic.

It is hard to find decent books of magic. Still, she tries her best, using her money from her after school job to browse thrift stores and garage sales in search of anything, everything, that could help her on her quest. She’s not interested in silly books about tarot cards, which is normally all she finds. She wants to learn about hard magic.

Lily smirks as she looks down at Petunia’s books. “These are all rubbish, you know. They belong there, too.”

“Well then, how about you get me some that aren’t?” Petunia raises her eyebrow. “You know where to get them, after all.”

But Lily’s already shaking her head. “You’re a muggle.”

“So?”

“Muggles don’t learn about magic.”

Petunia clenches her left fist. She hates that word ‘muggle’. It sounds like something you’d call a particularly stupid dog, one that piddles on the floor and doesn’t understand basic commands. “That’s a load of shite. Just because I can’t do magic, I’m not allowed to learn about it?”

“Petunia!” her mother admonishes her. “I will not have you using language like that in my house!”

Petunia stands up. The knuckles that grasp the back of her chair are white. “Throw them in the rubbish then!” She shouts at Lily. Her voice cracks. “It’s not like it will matter, will it!? They’re useless! Useless! Because if I can’t do magic, why would I ever bother learning about it!?”

Lily looks at her. Petunia isn’t certain what that look on her face means, but she doesn’t care. Magic. Who needs it, anyway. She shoves her arm across the table, scattering her books on the floor. “Nothing even matters!”

“Petunia!” Lily shouts.

It’s too late. Petunia’s out the front door. She walks aimlessly through the streets of Cokeworth. It’s as hot out here as it was in her attic room; the sun beats down on her, bouncing off the paved yards and small brick houses to hit her in the face.

Petunia scowls. Once she’s an adult, she will move somewhere where there are lawns. Lawns! None of this horrible cobblestone excuse that passes for grass here. There will be no grimy run-down houses where she will live. No, her house – her neighbourhood, her town – will be a peaceful place, a normal place, where she can have a family and not be worried about roving gangs of dirty miscreants hurting her darlings.

She pauses at the intersection of Spinner’s End and Waltonbury Street. That awful Snape boy lives down there. She’s glad that Lily’s stopped talking to him now. Apparently, they got into a fight and he called her a muggle or something. Petunia’s lip curls. She will own that word. It may be a dirty, unclean word, but at least it means she is normal. Lazy, layabout wizards have no class. They can pretend to be better than her, but inside she will smile, and she will know that they will never experience life the way she does. They will never know the joys of breaking your back to get a clean house, never know the satisfaction of a job well done. Petunia nods to herself. They may be able to do things faster, true, but they will value it less than someone who has worked for it. Someone being herself.

Petunia’s wanderings have taken her to the playground where she and Lily used to go when they were young. Like the rest of Cokeworth, it is dirty, with rubbish heaped around the rusty metal skeletons of playground equipment. She glares at a large pine tree, warped by the years and careless pruning. That’s where that Snape boy used to watch them from. Ugh! What a terrible, rude boy he was.

But no matter, she shouldn’t waste her thoughts on him. When Petunia slides through the front door, it is long past dusk. Someone, but certainly not her sister, has piled her books into a tidy stack on the dining table. She glares at them. Tomorrow, she will return them. And really, she must find more sensible books to take out, ones more suitable to her modest sensibilities.

Petunia’s lip curls. Really, Lily has done her a favour. Shown her the light, you could say. Her dearest, darling sister has done her a kindness.

Petunia hates her.

Now that Petunia has left behind her childish dreams, her marks improve.

Of course, they were good in the first place. But they can always be better. When she returns to school in the fall, her teachers remark on her drive.

“Your marks were always good, Miss Evans, but now I must say I’m impressed,” her maths professor, Mrs. Markle exclaims to her as she peers through thick glasses.

Petunia smiles politely, and pretends that a small portion of herself isn’t screaming in vindication. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Mrs. Markle smiles at her, and Petunia ducks her head to help fight back the grin.

She will be better. 

Petunia’s parents, as always, are unappreciative of her efforts. It’s always “Lily this,” and “Lily that”. Tales of her sister’s exploits at that filthy school, Pigwarts or something equally asinine. Petunia thinks that if her parents keep talking about it, she will develop heartburn. 

Petunia gets top marks in her classes. “Good job, dear,” her father says absently, and flips the page of the paper. Her mother’s reaction is even less noteworthy – she hums and nods her head. Her father looks up, and Petunia feels her heart soar in her chest.

“Did you see Lily’s letter that arrived the other day? Says she’s gotten a boyfriend! That young man named James!”

Petunia’s heart crashes into smithereens, having flown too close to the sun. As her parents discuss the contents of Lily’s letter, she stalks off to her attic room. And really, she thinks, trudging up the narrow, rickety stairs, isn’t it interesting that Lily’s room is on the first floor, where the temperature is more stable, the window wider, the room bigger? And yet, she’s hardly there. Petunia looks around her room, and sneers. It is small, the window is smaller, it’s too bloody hot, and it’s only May. Her chair wobbles as she sits down gingerly, and Petunia feels hatred building in her chest. She hates everything about this place. 

One day, she will leave. She will quit Cokeworth, this vile, dying little town and she will find a boyfriend who is not a nasty wizard, and together they will have beautiful, normal babies. Petunia focusses on that, as her hands curl into claws in her lap. She takes several deep breaths, and forces her hands to relax. Then, she leans forward and pulls her history textbook off of the stack of books situated on the corner of her desk. Wizards may have magic, she thinks grimly, but muggles have the atomic bomb. 

Finally, Petunia’s graduated secondary school. She’s not the top of her class – no, that honour falls to that hussy Layla Egglebert. (Petunia is certain she will gain a bad reputation soon enough. After all, she did see her snogging Alfred Burns, the local delinquent. And she may have told Sarah Boon to help it be known.) Now, Petunia can finally leave Cokeworth, the town that once was a city. 

Petunia leaves home two weeks later, and goes to Guildford, where she enrolls in secretarial school. Lily gets home before Petunia leaves, and Petunia can barely stand to look at her. Over the years, Lily has filled out where she has not. She is taller than Petunia, prettier than Petunia, more pleasant than Petunia. But Petunia is still better than Lily. She has to be, because Petunia is normal and Lily is not. Lily is a witch. Lily tries to stop her as she boxes up her things, but Petunia shakes her off and ignores her sad eyes triumphantly. 

“Go away and let me pack in peace!” Petunia snaps, when Lily has gotten in the way one too many times. 

“Do you really have to go?” says Lily woefully. “Come on, Tuney! You’re my sister! Can’t you stay here until the end of summer, when I have to go back to school. I hardly ever see you nowadays.”

That’s because I don’t want you to see me, Petunia thinks. But what she says is “No, I really do have to go now. Need to find a flat before they’re all taken.”

This is a bald-faced lie. The real reason she’s leaving is to escape her family. She can’t stand them. Her children, she thinks viciously, will never see their grandparents, never see their aunt. Petunia will not let such freakishness invade her domicile. The thought brings her joy. She can picture it in her mind: being married to a perfectly normal man, living in a perfectly normal neighbourhood, and having perfectly normal children. 

Normal is what Petunia craves. N-O-R-M-A-L. It is her favourite word. 

And so, Petunia moves to Guildford. It is very different from Cokeworth, being much more prosperous and a stone’s throw away from London. Petunia likes it very much. Living here, she feels free from the stifling confines of her hometown. No one knows her here. No one stops her in the street to ask about Lily. She’s free to be who she wants to be, and walks among the crowds knowing that she is one of them. She belongs, finally. She no longer skulks around the edges. 

She shares her flat with a young woman named Eliza Belford. She’s not bad, but a bit too into religion for Petunia. She is a good god-fearing Christian herself, of course, but there is such a thing as taking it too far. Eliza does exactly that. Petunia never discredits her to her face – she is not so uncouth – but she vents to her friends about the “nasty fundamentalist”. They’re sympathetic to her plight. Her best friend, Diane, scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

“My first flatmate was a Jew,” she sneers. “Ugh, it was horrible! She kept on going on about ‘Passover’ and instead of celebrating Christmas she lit candles and left them burning! Such a fire hazard. When I put them out, she screamed at me! I found a new flatmate not long after that.”

“How ghastly!” Petunia remarks, and is glad that at least Eliza is a Christian. A Jew… Poor Diane!

At secretarial school, the workload is heavy. Petunia enjoys it. When she has nights off, she goes out with her friends to enjoy the nightlife. She dances with her friends, and occasionally boys. Some of them are sweet, but most of them are pigs. She’s never dated before, and she feels a pang of nervousness when she thinks about it. She’d like a husband of course, but she’s uncertain about how one gets one. Men are still mysteries to her, though it pains her to admit it. 

Diane has a boyfriend. His name is Eric. Petunia is jealous of her. Diane’s thinking about marrying him. They lounge in Petunia’s room, painting their nails as Diane plans her wedding. 

“I’d like to get married in a church,” she sighs. Petunia nods, picturing it. Eric would wait at the alter, of course, and Diane would walk down the aisle towards him with a radiant smile on her face. 

“And I know exactly who I want to be for my bridesmaids,” she says, smiling slyly. She glances meaningfully at Petunia. Petunia’s heart jumps.

“Me? I – really?” she gasps. 

Diane laughs. “Of course, Petunia! You’re my best friend!”

Petunia grins widely. She’s never been anyone’s best friend before. “You’re my best friend too,” she says.

Her heart feels lighter, unweighted by jealousy as they plan out every detail of Diane’s wedding. 

Soon, Eric proposes to Diane. Her best friend is ecstatic, and Petunia couldn’t be gladder for her. They plan the wedding for a few weeks after they finish secretarial school. When the day comes, Diane shines with a glorious radiance that defies logic. Petunia is one of four bridesmaids, clad in a beautiful pink dress that complements Diane’s wonderfully. Her heart is light on this day. There is no heaviness within her. 

During the reception, a heavyset young man approaches her shyly. Petunia recognizes him as one of the groomsmen. “Hello,” he says, “would you care to dance with me?”

Petunia acquiesces gratefully. “Certainly! I’m Petunia Evans.”

He shakes her hand in his. “Petunia! It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Vernon Dursley.” 

They smile at each other, and Petunia feels a spark. 

At the end of the night, they exchange telephone numbers. It turns out that they live only a few streets away from each other. When Diane returns from her honeymoon to Cornwall, Petunia gushes over the phone to her about Vernon. 

Diane laughs. “Sounds like you’ve found yourself a real catch!” she says. 

“Oh, I hope so!” Petunia murmurs. “He’s so wonderful! Such a nice man!” She sighs, and her heart flutters in her chest. “Diane, I think I’m in love.”

There’s a silence as Diane contemplates this. Then a squeal. “Oh, Petunia! That’s wonderful!” She gushes. “I don’t know Vernon too well, but he’s a great friend of Eric’s! We simply must go on a double date sometime.”

Petunia jumps at the chance, and together they work out the details. When the day of the date comes, Vernon picks her up outside her flat. Since graduating secretarial school, she’s managed to rent a nicer one, without horrible roommates. 

They’ve decided to go to a nice Italian restaurant, nothing too ethnic, and as they eat their food Petunia thinks they’ve made a good choice. Conversation flows between them, and Vernon tells them all sorts of amusing anecdotes. He tells a particularly amusing joke about a Japanese golfer, and it’s so funny that Petunia can hardly breathe. 

“Those Orientals are really something else!” Eric laughs.

Diane grins at him, and gestures towards her eyes. “Well, they can hardly see after all!”

Vernon scowls. “Those people!” He says. “They’re hardly better than the Coons!”

Petunia nods fervently. “Or Poofs!”

The group gives a collective shudder. 

“Lucky for us that we’re all the right sort then, isn’t it?” Diane says. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do if Eric was one of those freaks.” She clasps his hands on the table, and Eric smiles softly at her. 

They’re so in love. Petunia hopes that that can be her someday. She glances at Vernon. A soft smile is playing around his lips as he looks back at her. 

Later that night, Vernon escorts her home, as the gentleman he is. They have many similar opinions, they’re finding. Petunia wants to see him again. They’re kindred spirits, she thinks. It would be a shame to have only one date. She tells him so, and he laughs and agrees. 

“Do you want to go out again next week?” He asks. 

Petunia’s answer is yes, of course. They decide on a time and a place, and Vernon promises to pick her up next Tuesday at 6. 

Petunia watches him walk away, peeping through the curtains. She sees his silhouette turn to look back, and feels her heart flutter in her chest. He’s such a strong, normal, handsome man. She’s giddy with delight. Never before this has Petunia felt the urge to swoon. In bed that night, visions of white dresses and church bells are in her dreams. 

Soon she’s graduated secretarial school at the top of her class. Well, nearly at the top. Some hussy called Evangeline March is first in their class, but Petunia is a close second. 

Vernon is the perfect gentleman. Not long after she graduates, he proposes to her. He does it at the end of one of their dates in a diner, and as he gets down on one knee, Petunia is awestruck by the fact that this is happening to her. 

“Petunia? Will you marry me?” Vernon asks, and she realizes that her tears are obscuring her vision.

“Yes!” She blubbers, and Vernon lunges from the floor as Petunia pulls him into her arms. She peppers his face with kisses. It is the happiest moment of her life. 

Over the next months while planning her wedding, Petunia feels as though she’s floating over a flowerbed – mostly. Her freak sister has already gotten married at the tender age of 17, but Petunia doesn’t let that hussy put a dent in her plans. She argues with her parents over the phone about family friends she’s never met, or can’t ever recall meeting. After one such conversation, after she slams the phone down in its rocker, she bursts into tears in her kitchen. Vernon, sitting in the next room, hurries in.

“Petunia? Pet, what’s wrong?” his brow furrows as he gathers her in his arms. 

“Why am I always the other child?” Petunia asks him through her tears. “They helped to pay for Lily’s wedding and now they’re refusing to help us with ours?! And they want me to invite a hundred people, all whom I’ve never met! We can’t afford that, Vernon!”

“Oh, my darling,” he says softly, his strong arms rocking her back and forth beside the fridge. “It doesn’t matter what your parents think of you. You’re going to be my wife. Soon you’ll be free of them.”

Petunia sighs. “I know. It still hurts though. All my life my freaky sister’s been the apple of their eye, especially once… well.”

“Since what, Pet?”

Petunia ducks her head, ashamed. “I’m not allowed to say.”

Vernon looks her in the eye. “You can tell me anything. I’m marrying all of you, for better or for worse, and that includes your family, no matter how strange they are.”

Emboldened, Petunia purses her lips thoughtfully. “Well… I suppose.

“It started, or it first became noticed, when we were girls. Lily could do strange things, unnatural things. I was very jealous of her as a child. She’s always been prettier than me, and now she could do crazy things too?

“She took delight in showing it off to me, teasing me when I tried to do the same but inevitably couldn’t. I remember one time she made a flower dance through the air to the tune of a folksong that she was singing. 

“Our parents couldn’t understand why I disliked her so, but she never told them.

“And then, the summer before Lily went into Year 7, a woman dressed in the most ridiculous clothes came to our house. She explained to us that Lily was a witch, and was privileged enough to go to a boarding school called Hogwarts. 

“And from that moment, Lily could do no wrong in my parents’ eyes.”

Vernon strokes her hair. “A witch, eh?” He takes a shuddering breath, and Petunia hopes that he’ll be accepting of her. She can’t bear it otherwise. “You know,” he says softly, “I think I saw a witch once.”

Petunia cranes her neck to look up at him. He’s gazing into nothing, a terrible frown on his face. He looks distantly afraid. “It was when I was a child. I was playing with my sister Marge and our dog Mitty. Mitty didn’t bring back the ball, so I went to get it. It had fallen down an embankment.

“When I got to the bottom, there was a house that I had never seen there before. I was in the area often, so I don’t know how I missed it. It was a very strange house – tall, and it seemed upended. The smallest floor was the ground floor, and the biggest one was the third. It defied the laws of physics!

“Out of curiosity, I peered through the window. Inside, knives were cutting up vegetables without anyone touching them. A woman was bent over a fire, stirring something. I was terrified. It seemed to me in that moment as if she knew I was coming, and was preparing to roast me like one of those unlucky children in fairytales. I turned and fled, as quickly as I could while still being silent.

“I told Marge that I had been unable to find Mitty’s ball.

“When I mustered up my courage several weeks later, the house had disappeared, totally vanished! There were no signs that it had ever been there.” 

Petunia is horrified. “I’m so glad you’re still here,” she whispers. “Thank you – thank you for believing me.”

“Thank you for believing in me,” he replies. He hesitates. “Petunia, you are my treasure. I could not bear it if anything happened to you. Please, will you stay away from your sister? I don’t feel comfortable knowing that you would be around a witch. I need you to stay safe,” he pleads.

“Vernon, I can hardly bear to be around her. I never want to see her again.” Petunia made her choice long ago. As Vernon smiles lovingly at her, she knows that she made the right one. 

Petunia’s wedding is small, but no less lovely for it. The only dark spot marring it is that Lily and her freak husband are there, but they sit in the back of the church and don’t stay long, so it is tolerable. (Petunia hadn’t wanted to invite them, but her parents were insistent. She ignores them throughout the ceremony and pretends that they aren’t there.)

As she walks down the carpet, she feels filled with light. Vernon is waiting nervously for her at the altar, and when he sees her, he glows with joy. Petunia beams back at him through her sheer veil. It’s all she can do not to sprint into his arms. She’s certain that he also is having to restrain himself. When she finally reaches the altar, he unveils her. The ushers line up beside Vernon, and the bridesmaids beside her. Vernon’s friend Eric is among them, but he is not the best man. That honour falls to Vernon’s childhood friend Christopher. Diane stands beside Petunia as the maid of honour, although she is already married. Petunia wanted no one else to take her rightful place. 

The priest says Mass over them, and Petunia lets her mind be lulled by the Latin. After Mass, it is time for them to say their vows. They stand, and turn to face each other. 

The priest clears his throat. “Will you, Vernon Dursley, take Petunia Evans as your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I, Vernon Dursley, take you, Petunia Evans, as my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”

The priest turns to Petunia. “And do you, Petunia Evans, take Vernon Dursley to be your husband?”

“I, Petunia Evans, take you, Vernon Dursley, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love and honour you all the days of my life.”

“Then so be it!” Says the priest. “By the power bestowed unto me by God, I now declare you husband and wife!”

As they kiss, the crowd bursts into applause. When Petunia turns to face them, she sees her parents beaming at her from the front row. Her mother is wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief. But more importantly, Vernon is looking at her as though she holds the moon.

Vernon and Petunia buy a house together six months after their marriage. It’s located in Little Whinging, not too far from Guildford. More importantly, it is a respectable distance away from her parents, Cokeworth, and Lily. All the houses in their new neighbourhood look the same, or nearly the same. Petunia loves it. She remarks to Vernon that it’s nice to look out and know that they are one of many. He nods, agreeing with her. Yes, their neighbourhood is totally normal. 

Not too long after they move in, Petunia gets a call from Diane. She’s sobbing heaving. Petunia can hardly understand her. 

“Diane?” She asks, “Diane, tell me what’s wrong.”

Diane heaves out a wail. “Oh, Petunia! It’s awful, so awful! I don’t know why this is happening to me!”

A cold, hard ball grows in Petunia’s stomach. Has someone died? She dearly hopes that that is not the case. 

Diane sniffles, and collects herself a bit. “It’s Eric. Petunia, Eric… He’s been cheating on me!”

Petunia gasps in horror. “Cheating?”

Diane wails again. “I caught him in the act! In our bed, Petunia! In our bed!” She quietens. “How could he do this to me?” She says, so faintly that Petunia has to strain to hear it. 

Petunia has no answers for her, only faint horror and waxing uncertainties. “It’ll be OK,” she says, to cover up the fact that really, she has no idea. “God makes everything happen for a reason.”

Diane bursts into tears again and hangs up on her.

Petunia stares at the telephone in shock. How rude of her! She can’t imagine what she said that was so offensive. She replaces the phone in its cradle, and finds Vernon in the backyard to tell him the news.

Petunia tries her best to support Diane through her divorce. Really, she does. But as time goes on, a niggling sensation grows in her chest. Something’s not right. When Diane brings up the subject of her pending divorce one day, over tea in her kitchen, Petunia shifts in her seat.

“I don’t see why he had to do it,” Diane says, staring morosely into her teacup. She swirls it gently, peering into it as though it will tell her her future. Petunia winces at the thought. Ugh! Magic!

Diane’s lower lip trembles, and Petunia hurries to comfort her. She doesn’t talk about God knowing her path, apparently Diane finds that offensive now, but she pats her hand. “There, there,” she says uselessly, “let me refill your cup.”

Diane holds it out obligingly. 

Petunia has always been certain that tea fixes everything, but can it help with this? She doesn’t know. 

Diane brings the cup to her lips. “I just feel so betrayed,” she gulps. 

Oh dear God please not another crying session. She makes sure to keep her face sympathetic. “Sometimes men are truly a mystery. He has shown you that he doesn’t deserve you. Remember, you’re better than him.”

Diane nods along, fingering the handle of the teacup. Petunia gets the feeling that she isn’t really listening and feels a surge of irritation. 

They sit together in silence for a time. Petunia watches Diane stare into her cup, her eyes rimmed with red. 

“I just, I wish that this had never happened,” she whispers eventually. 

“We all do,” Petunia replies, and absolutely does not let a hint of irony into her voice. 

When Diane finally, finally leaves, Petunia watches her until she’s turned around the corner and lets her head fall against the door with a groan. Diane’s histrionics are really rubbing her the wrong way. She needs to suck it up. Petunia is quite certain that she wouldn’t be acting in such a deplorable manner if Vernon were cheating on her. Hopefully Diane stops moping around soon, Petunia isn’t sure how much more of this she can take. 

She finds Vernon on the back porch, lounging in a deck chair and reading the paper. She sits down beside him with a groan, tilting her head back to soak up the sunlight. She closes her eyes briefly to enjoy the sensation. 

Vernon raises an eyebrow at her. “Diane finally left?”

“That woman is becoming unbearable!” Petunia grouses. 

Vernon scowls. “I know. And she keeps on insulting Eric to my face. Of course, I’m not speaking to him at the moment – it was a terrible thing to do, after all – but still! She is taking this much too far.”

“I don’t know if I can tolerate much more of her whining.”

Vernon flips the page of his paper. “Then don’t,” he says matter-of-factly, “You aren’t obligated to her, after all. If anything, she should be grateful to you for standing by her for so long!”

Petunia grimaces. “I know. Something must be done.”

Vernon raises his eyebrows at her over the top of the page. “Something must be done by you.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll do it. The only hard part is figuring out how, and when.”

Vernon puts the newspaper down to give her his full attention. “I have faith in you to do what is right. I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t.” 

They leave it at that, and sit in companionable silence until Petunia heaves herself out of the chair in order to make dinner. 

That night, laying in bed, Petunia thinks about how to tell Diane that she’s being unreasonable. The answer refuses to come to her, and eventually she drifts off to Vernon’s gentle snores.

Diane calls her up again a few days later. Once again, she’s sobbing great heaving tears, so large that Petunia can’t make out what she’s saying. Petunia grits her teeth so hard that they squeak a bit. She lets Diane cry her eyes out until they’ve apparently dried, offering gentle humming noises as her temper begins to show signs of fraying. When Diane is less fraught, she asks, “now there, what is it?” 

Diane gives a ragged gasp. “Oh, Petunia! I – I’m pregnant!”

Petunia freezes in shock. An icy ball grows in her stomach. “Then,” she says coolly, “You are no longer my friend.” She snatches the phone away from her ear and slams in down into the cradle. It rings again almost immediately, but she ignores it. Like she said, Diane is no longer her friend. She refuses to associate with divorced, child-laden hussies. She walks through the hallway into the living room, and sits down in front of the news with Vernon.

He looks at her questioningly. “You’re not getting the phone?”

He is right to be questioning, it is rather unlike her. “No,” she shakes her head firmly, “Diane just confessed to something unforgivable. Divorcing, and pregnant to boot.”

Vernon scowls heavily, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’m glad you’ve stopped associating yourself with her. Such toxic people are unhealthy to be around.” He shakes his head sorrowfully. “Divorced and pregnant… how shameful. Only a whore would allow such a thing to happen to her.”

“Well, she’s no better than one now.”

Vernon nods, and with that the subject is dismissed. 

Ironically enough, it’s not long after that that Petunia herself falls pregnant. Vernon brings her to the doctor after she’s spent several mornings throwing up and can suddenly no longer bear the scent of eggs. When the doctor announces it to them, Petunia smiles so hugely that it feels as though her face will split. Vernon breaks into little happy tears, and envelopes Petunia in a bear hug. 

“We’re having a baby!” He exclaims, over and over.

The doctor assures Petunia that she’s eight weeks along, and sends them off with instructions to take prenatal vitamins, and to avoid drinking alcohol until the end of the first trimester. 

Back home, Petunia floats in a daze of happiness. She’s having a baby! Vernon picks her up and swings her in the air.

“My darling! You have made me a father!”

She kisses him hard. “And you have made me a mother!”

He laughs, and carries her up the stairs into their bedroom.

He sets her down gently on their bed. Petunia is already wriggling out of her clothes. He hastily unbuttons his shirt with such haste that it might as well be burning him. He assists Petunia with her dress, unzipping it as she undoes her garters and rolls down her hose. When she unclasps her bra, he groans at the sight of her breasts. Petunia smiles at Vernon’s lustful gaze. She can’t wait for her stomach to swell and her breasts to become engorged. 

Vernon caresses her softly, and she shudders as the touch attracts the lightning that is beginning to stir under her skin. He brings his hands down to her hips, and draws down her panties, revealing the dark thatch of hair underneath.

Petunia can’t help but notice a discrepancy between them. “This is unfair,” she laughs. “You haven’t even undone your belt and I’m laid out for the world to see!” She looks at him through her eyelashes. “Let me rectify that.”

She kneels up on the bed to unbuckle his belt, although Vernon impedes her progress by fondling her breasts and playing with her nipples. 

As she pulls down his briefs and pants, his penis springs up. It is proudly erect, and Petunia smiles hungrily. “Oh my goodness! But what do we have here?” She kisses the tip of it, and Vernon’s breath stutters a little. He steps out of his pants, lowering himself on top of her. 

Delicately, he traces kisses down her body. He licks at her breasts, sucking on them until the tips are hard and red. Petunia sighs in happiness at the sensation, and a faint cloud of lust falls over her mind as she watches him. 

Vernon kisses her lower abdomen tenderly, then moves down to her mons pubis. He gives a great lick to her vulva, and Petunia shudders. He sucks on his fingers briefly, and begins to lightly stimulate her clitoris. 

Petunia gasps. As ever, it is electrifying. Vernon takes it as the sign of encouragement that it is, and continues until she is well and truly wound up. Then, he enthusiastically starts sucking, burrying his nose in her pubic hair. Petunia feels his fingers enter her vagina, and attempts to skewer herself on them. His fingers move, and she widens her legs. 

He licks and fingers her until she reaches orgasm. First it appears on the horizon, its rays of light just peaking over. Petunia throws herself towards it, bearing down on Vernon’s tongue as her hips begin to thrust wildly. As it breaks over her, her movements become uneven. She gasps in delight, and enjoys the aftershocks. 

Vernon removes himself from her crotch and surges up to kiss her. She can taste herself, musky and slightly sweet. His erection presses against her leg, leaking pre-come onto it. 

“Are you up for round two?” He asks.

She smiles at him. “Always,” she says, and urges him forwards with her legs.

He grabs the bottle of lube that resides in their bedside table, and applies it generously. There is no need for a condom, since Petunia is pregnant. He eases his erection into her, grunting in pleasure at the tightness. Petunia moans happily as she feels it fill her entirely. It is a wonderful sensation; Petunia loves how his penis stimulates her. It is perfect in every way.

Vernon’s thrusts start off slow, to give her time to get used to it. He knows what she likes, and cants his hips just so to avoid slamming into her cervix. Petunia luxuriates in the sensation of him sliding in and out. She rolls her hips along with him.

Vernon kisses her fiercely, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in an imitation of sex. His mouth covers hers entirely, and when they break apart her lips are moist with his saliva. 

The rolling of Petunia’s hips gains speed, and Vernon takes his cue to go faster. She pants at the feeling, her head thrown back on the pillow. Vernon clenches at her breasts, applying light pressure to the nipples. 

She gives a light, thread moan. She can feel the second orgasm coming, lurking below the horizon. “Don’t stop,” she gasps, and Vernon continues to do exactly what he’s doing. Together, they bring their orgasms up. When Petunia’s finally crests, she bears down on it, clenching her pelvic muscles to encourage it. 

Vernon gasps at the increased pressure, and as her orgasm pulses through her, she feels him come. A great warmth jets inside her, and Vernon moans in delight. 

Their thrusting slows. Petunia is utterly satisfied, and she knows Vernon is as well by how he collapses on the bed beside her. They lie there together for several minutes in the afterglow, then get up to clean off. 

When Petunia has her baby, she’s not sure if it’s actually coming. 

She starts feeling contractions about halfway through the afternoon. They start off small, more like cramps. She’s not quite certain that they’re actually there. By the time Vernon comes home from work, they’re more frequent. She makes a quick dinner for them with plenty of leftovers.

“Vernon, I think the baby is coming,” she says to him over dinner.

He startles. “Now? Are you sure?”

“I’m having contractions.”

Flustered, Vernon runs his hands through his hair. “Oh my. Oh, oh my. So… shall we go to hospital then?”

Petunia smiles at him. “Yes. Can you run and grab my bag? It’s by the bedroom door.”

Vernon hurries upstairs. “Don’t forget the things for the baby!” Petunia calls after him. He shouts something affirmative back. 

Petunia pulls on her shoes with some difficulty over the round swell of her stomach. She pats it affectionately. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ll be out with Mummy and Daddy soon enough.”

Vernon comes back downstairs just as she’s straightening up, holding her bag and the baby’s. He wipes his face nervously. 

On the way to hospital, Petunia has to scold him to slow down several times. “Do be more careful, Vernon! The baby needs to survive the trip in order to be born!”

Vernon’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “I know, I know,” he says, “I’m worried, that’s all!”

Still though, he does make an effort to slow down. Petunia appreciates it. 

When they arrive, Vernon rushes in. Petunia catches up to him at the front desk, where he’s arguing with the staff about getting a room for her. She introduces herself, and together they check in. 

In her room, Petunia changes into a hospital gown. Just in time, too, since her water breaks. Liquid gushes down her legs and over the floor. Vernon turns white at the sight, and a nurse hustles him to wait in a chair outside. 

Petunia’s contractions are coming stronger now, and she doubles over in pain, screwing up her face. Another nurse pushes her onto the hospital bed. Petunia lies her head back on the pillow.

A doctor enters the room. “Good evening, Mrs. Dursley,” he says. “How much is she dilated?” He asks a nurse. 

The nurse passes him a chart. “Only five centimeters as of yet,” she says, her tone businesslike. 

The doctor nods. “Good, good.” He introduces himself, but his name slips out of Petunia’s mind practically when he says it. He looks at Petunia inquiringly. “Mrs. Dursley, at approximately what time did your contractions begin today?”

“A few hours after lunch,” replies Petunia through gritted teeth. “Around three I think.”

“Right, then,” the doctor passes the chart back to the nurse. “Call me back in once you’ve prepared the epidural. Don’t worry, it won’t be too long now,” he says to her warmly. “I’ll be back shortly.” The doctor leaves the room.

Petunia glares at the door. No epidural!? She groans. She knows it will happen soon, but she wants it now! Please and thank you. Another contraction rolls through her, and she breathes deeply and rides it out. 

A nurse pats her hand. “Don’t worry, dear,” she says comfortingly, “it’s all natural. We’ll be administering the epidural shortly.”

Sure enough, another nurse nearby is preparing a frighteningly large needle. She smiles encouragingly at Petunia when she glances at her. 

“You’re going to be shoving that in me!?” Petunia says, horrified. 

As the nurse laughs, the needle shakes slightly. “Oh, no! The doctor needs to do that. This goes straight into your spine, you know.”

Petunia swears to herself that she’ll never have a second child. One time to give birth is more than enough for her. 

When the doctor finally, finally comes back in, Petunia couldn’t be more grateful. He smiles at her as he pulls on a fresh pair of gloves. Petunia is thankful for his attention to detail. No child of hers will be getting sick here! 

He takes the enormous epidural needle from the tray. “If you could just roll over onto your side, please?”

Petunia does as he asks, shifting over so that her belly is pressed against the mattress. 

She can hardly feel the needle as it presses into her spine. The only sign of its passing is the wave of numbness that roles down from the entry point, all the way down to her feet. 

Petunia sighs in relief as her abdomen becomes blessedly numb. 

“Isn’t that better, now?” The doctor smiles cheerfully at her. 

Petunia smiles back. The whole situation feels much better now that she’s not in pain. “Have you got any magazines?” she asks hopefully.

Petunia doesn’t pay too much attention to the rest of her labour. After her epidural, Vernon is let back in the room for a while. However, the nurse makes it clear that once the baby is ready to come out, Vernon needs to head back to the waiting room again. Still, Petunia is glad that he’s here. He’s careful not to look too low down, of course. Petunia does not want him to see her in such a state. 

After a few hours, the nurses usher him out again. He looks worried, but nevertheless acquiesces. 

The doctor enters the room again, and once again pulls on a fresh pair of gloves. “Still no pain, Mrs. Dursley?”

He nods as she shakes her head, then turns to the nurse. “How are we for dilation?”

“A full ten centimeters,” the nurse replies.

Together, they stare in between Petunia’s legs. She feels mildly uncomfortable with it, but the doctor does know best after all. When he wants to learn how to make an excellent cream of chicken casserole, he’ll come to her. 

“Oh, here it comes!” The nurse suddenly says, in eager anticipation. The doctor’s ducked down behind Petunia’s stomach, presumably delivering the baby.

His voice floats over to her. “Mrs. Dursley, please push down.”

She does as he asks.

“Excellent! Again!”

Petunia bears down again, harder this time. They continue in this manner for a bit, until Petunia’s face is red from exertion. Finally, when she is beginning to think that she can bear it no longer, the nurse whoops.

She looks over, just in time to see the doctor give a firm slap to the baby’s bottom. It shrieks in protest – he, it’s a he – she thinks dazedly, and the doctor deposits him onto her. He’s crying, his face a bright red colour. He looks like Winston Churchill, she thinks, but then again, all babies do. She pats him gently. He’s making nuzzling motions against her skin, and she guides him towards her breast. 

When Vernon comes in, he’s fallen asleep. Together, they coo over him and discuss names. “Your grandfather had a good name, didn’t he?” Vernon asks thoughtfully. “What was it again?”

“Dudley,” Petunia replies. The man died when she was young, but her faint memories of him are fond ones. “Is that what you think we should name him?”

“It’s a good name,” Vernon says softly, stroking the baby’s head. “I think we should.”

Grandpa Dudley was good to her, she thinks. Best to honour him in this way.

“Dudley,” she lets the name roll off of tongue. It suits him. Her strong, beautiful baby boy. “He should take your father’s name as his middle one,” she decides.

Vernon raises his eyebrows at her. “Not yours?”

She is quite firm on the matter. “No.”

Vernon nods, and strokes Dudley’s head again. “Dudley Cecil Dursley,” he says, “I’m your father.” His eyes well up with tears.

That winter, Petunia runs into Diane at the grocery store. She looks startled to see her. Both of them are carrying their children. The shopping cart in Diane’s other hand is filled with off-brand goods. Her face is worn, though her child can’t be too much older than Dudley. Petunia stares at her for a minute and decides to pretend that she’s part of the wall. 

In her peripheral vision, Diane looks hurt. Petunia quashes the pity that threatens to rise inside her, and moves on.

Petunia does not associate with such uncouth lowlifes. 

Dudley’s first birthday is a quiet affair. Petunia doesn’t mind. He is, after all, only a baby. They’ll save the elaborate celebrations for when he’s older. She makes a small chocolate cake, over which she and Vernon sing Happy Birthday. There’s a red candle stuck into the icing. Dudley makes a grab for it with one chubby fist, but Petunia has anticipated this and put it out of reach. They share the cake, and Vernon lets Dudley have a bit of icing off his spoon, laughing as he sucks on it hungrily.

“Little tyke loves his sweets already!” He exclaims, and Petunia smiles fondly. Dudley has cake crumbs stuck to his cherubic face, and Petunia quickly dabs them away with a white, lacey napkin. 

After she puts Dudley to bed in his crib, she goes back downstairs to the sitting room to watch TV with Vernon. A game show is on tonight, one that they particularly like. She curls into Vernon’s side as they laugh at the contestants together. 

After the show is over, Vernon turns to Petunia. “Darling,” he says, “have you thought about another child?”

Petunia smiles at him. Truth be told, she has. She would dearly love that Dudders have a sibling to play with. “It has always been my wish to have a couple children,” she informs Vernon. “It certainly wouldn’t do to have Dudley playing with my freak sister’s spawn.”

Vernon shudders in revulsion. “Filthy animals.”

Petunia couldn’t agree more. 

Over the next months, Petunia and Vernon celebrate each others’ bodies. They have become so attuned to each other that there is hardly new ground to discover, but there is far more joy to be found in treading familiar, well-worn paths than there is in hacking through the underbrush to create new ones. 

Each month Petunia still gets her period, however she isn’t worried. Dudley wasn’t conceived for months. As the seasons change from summer into fall, Petunia’s life is blissfully happy. She has her house, her husband, and her child. What more could she want? She lacks for nothing. 

When, in mid-October, they find out that Petunia is pregnant again, Vernon dances for joy. He swings Petunia giddily around the sitting room, then carries her upstairs in jubilation. 

On November first, 1981, Petunia opens the door to retrieve the milk. 

A dark-haired baby with green eyes looks back at her.

Petunia screams.

Two weeks later, she miscarries.


End file.
